


To lies, we drink!

by ArmedWithPen



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Last Man Standing, One Shot, Yikes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 21:02:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19070608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArmedWithPen/pseuds/ArmedWithPen
Summary: Angsty one shot. Enjoy!





	To lies, we drink!

Remus Lupin stared out of the window, observing the Londoners desperate dance to escape the rain. Himself had retreated into a weather bitten muggle pub, which sign displayed a green pig chasing a half-naked man which kept a raised bottle in his right hand. Not the best sign if you were after something decent to drink, the werewolf thought raising his own glass to his lips. He cringed at the watered down somewhat rotten taste but made no plans to confront the pub owner. If only Sirius would’ve been here. He missed that cheeky smile that enlarge could small discomforts to the most important thing existing. He would have stepped over to the bartender or stomped into the owner’s office demanding his money back or a glass of something real instead of “the piss” they had been served. How those powerful muscles only had to move a bit under his shirt, to get his will through.  
The beautiful boy who got his hands on a bottle of firewhiskey under their school years and passed it around until both James and Peter had fallen asleep(Peter who after one glass claiming he'd goe tired and went to bed and James curled around the bottle, occasionally mumbling something about loose geese). He remembered how Sirius and he had lain with limbs entangled in his bed, how words passed without barriers… The next morning (after James finished the bottle, claimed it was a reset) Sirius had claimed that he remembered nothing of the night. That whole year he blushed whenever Remus touched him. Nothing happened after that, apart from the knifes that carefully snuck in under his skin every time Sirius started bragging about his conquests: How that Slytherin had blushed when he’d been pushed against the wall or how that Hufflepuff had a birthmark had a birthmark on a specific spot.  
He raised the glass high as he drank. Once again grimacing at the taste.  
Maybe if he’d told how he felt, Sirius hadn’t gone into the Ministry with the order and he would still be alive. Still the logic part ached to oppose. If he’d told the truth Sirius would have had more to fight for, or he had to fight to forget and protect Harry. But then he would have known. He slammed his fist into the table. Now every eye in the half-empty pub was on him. He placed a 20£ note under the glass and slung his coat over his quite narrow shoulders. He stepped over to the door and greeted the raindrops as he went outside. He let his shoulders slack and let out the tears. He was the last marauder standing. No more Sirius, no more of that cheap happiness. His curse was to only get a taste of completeness before it’s ripped away under his feet. First James, then Peter’s betrayal and now Sirius. He had to rise from the ashes, like he did after every full moon. Only this time he couldn’t see the light in front of him and drinking to recall old times only dragged him deeper into the miserable hole he had fallen in.  
He had to move on, remember his friend’s not in the way they fell but in the way they lived.  
He raised his head washing away the tears and with them the fuzz the ale had given him.  
He continued down the street with tears sliding down his face but as a man who was ready to move on. But first he had to say goodbye.


End file.
